


We're as Sick as our Secrets

by StrangeBint



Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Genderfluid, Moral Dilemmas, Mystery, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Buffy Summers, POV Faith Lehane, POV Xander Harris, Plot Twists, Post-Canon, Queer Friendly, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeBint/pseuds/StrangeBint
Summary: Sunnydale was a long time ago. Xander can't even pretend he's a kid anymore. When the new "woke" Council reps show up and tell him his friend is dead he knows he's been forced to play the part of bitter old man. If only one of them wasn't his ex-wife who thinks it's time to talk about what happened in San Francisco.Buffy knows the world is more complicated now. But there's still right and wrong. She knows her latest slaying was the right thing to do even if she made some mistakes. Buffy wants to take responsibility when Faith literally steals her away. What will Faith have in store for her?Faith thought she had this whole redemption thing down. She should have known if the "good" Slayer's love puppy love unleashed a ruthless vampire back in day the bad Slayer's grown ass love was going to unleash something...next level. And she wouldn't want to stop it. Faith's love gives endless power.Willow isn't responsible for San Francisco. That doesn't mean she'll let them hurt Faith.Who really has had the power and who will have it moving forward?Hold on.
Relationships: Buffy Summers/Shadow Moon, Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Faith Lehane/Willow Rosenberg, Faith Lehane/Withheld, Xander Harris/Dawn Summers, Xander Harris/Faith Lehane
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Rodeo Drive, Los Angles, Somewhere in the Multiverse:

He’s smaller in real life. Not that this is real life or as they say RL now. But, it’s my real life. It has been for a while. He just looks smaller than I thought he’d look after all of this. He sits on a stone bench on Rodeo as mostly women walk by.

He talks fast. He has things to tell me and I’m forced to listen, but I can’t seem to keep my opinions to myself. But, it’s like a bad dream. I can’t remember what I said right after I said it. I know he’s doing that, the little turd.

“Do you think I’m sitting here a five-thousand dollar jacket talking to you because I hate them? Do you think I have to do this?”

He stops and coughs. It’s a deep hacking sound so apart from his high voice. He puts the plastic topped chia cup to his lips and slurps. He wears a lot of Dolce but doesn’t bother to shave or do anything else for his physical body by the looks of it. He did bother to look my physical body up and down.

“Well, I don’t! So, they got mad. They killed me. Now I’m the bad guy. I accept that. It’s the natural order of things that children or creations rebel but...”

_I say something, something like: “You didn’t create them, you little weasel. Who even are you? You were just some kid, whose parents didn’t want you. You’re not a real god!”_

But, it just comes out as nervous laughter, like I’m agreeing. He picks a flower from behind the bench and twirls it.

“But, what I want to tell you is I loved them all. Really, I did. I always will. But, I guess I did play favorites. I guess, in the end, I loved her the most. I want her to know that. I mean, if I didn’t it would all be a lot worse for her, but gods don’t get thank yous, do they?

I wouldn’t know. I’m not a god. As a higher being I just know you can’t go pissing gods off.


	2. Legal-Ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My whole life I’ve been fighting Faith, or maybe it wasn’t Faith, but fate. Now I lean in because even if I’m the bad guy now, or if I was all along, it doesn’t matter. I’ll never stop trying to do good even if it means letting it all end.

Legal-Ease

“People sure are pissed off,” I joke as I look out the window, “Who would think murdering their god would get to them so much in this day and age?”

People are holding signs I can’t make out from the fourth floor with the sun setting. But, I’m sure it’s all the same stuff I’ve been getting. I’m a murderer. A terrorist, A Nazi, UnWoke. I had to have that explained to me.

I also had to look up what a TURF was. I was beginning to think it was just a blond harmless looking woman who had secret power. I haven’t really slept since I looked it up. So, I try to joke.

The gorgeous slab of man doesn’t smile. He’s quiet as he looks down at the shouting protestors. Some guards walk out to disperse them. They wear all black and have Slayzers (Tasers that can incapacitate Slayers) that could zap most any power for days. It’s kind of overkill. They just look like a group of teenagers.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “From the looks of them we can take them if it gets violent.”

“And then they’ll just use that against you!”

Shadow is up and pacing in the tiny room we’ve been allowed to visit in. He’s usually very stoic, so when he gets like this he’s upset. Just like another man that I don’t want to think of, so I grab Shadow’s hands instead.

“Hey,” I say, “Calm down. You’re the black man and I’m the privileged suburban girl, remember?”

“This was supposed to be a safe-house!”

We’re in some old building tucked away in the hilly campus of Berkeley. I think it was an old dorm. Don’t ask me how it works. I just know I’m legally required to be here. Not by regular United States Law, but by the laws of SERC. Slayers Ethical Restitution Committee, I think? No, Slayer Ethos Reform Committee Slayer Error Correction Committee? I can’t remember. I remember they once had a meeting on the floor of my one bedroom apartment and now they’re a worldwide institution.

Sure. I could run. But that’s what guilty people do, or people who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions.

“Like someone wasn’t going to tweet about it?” I say to Shadow, “It’s not like they know about you.”

Haters don’t know about my newish boyfriend, and I’m going to keep it that way.

_A girl’s gotta have some secrets, and I’m not talking about me._ I turn away from Shadow. My body tightens up so hard I feel like my muscles are going to rip out of my skin.

“Besides,” I say, “It’s not like they don’t have a point. I mean, I’m not a cold blooded hate machine but--”

“Buffy,” he says, “You were doing your job. They _were_ causing chaos. They _were_ killing people.”

“But—“ I began.

“But nothing!” he says, “They used their power to groom and influence. They went on an organized killing spree of humans. You had to do your job.”

“Groom and influence?” I repeat.

I hate legalese. I used to think it was two words legal-ease. Not knowing things like that isn’t cute anymore. So, I keep things like that to myself. As you get older the secrets you keep change. Whenever they say ‘groom and influence’ I flashback to me brushing My Little Pony dolls. The box said: _She comes with her own brush! You can Groom her_! I don’t share that dated thought either.

“How do you know they did that?” I ask, “Did you do that lookie-lou thing you do?”

I hear some raised voices down below. It sounds like nothing major, but something is going on.

“No,” Shadow looks away from me, embarrassed I brought up his budding abilities, “I can’t do that with you and I—I just know what you told me and—“

“Right,” I let out a breathe as I hear someone being cheered on down below, “I’m going to change my plea to guilty with the understanding that I really didn’t --”

“What?” he says, “No! Look, we can beat this. I know people who can—“

When I hear the glass break I wasn’t exactly expecting it. But, I find I’m relieved. I know exactly who it is. Not a protestor. I don’t have time to explain to my too-new boyfriend that while I was trying to keep a smile on my face for past week. At first I believed I was who I always was, and this little rebellion/betrayal/trial was like all the rest of them. It was just something I had to go through every few years like a teeth-cleaning:

Something big changes. Buffy tries hard. Buffy’s emotions get the best of her. But then Buff does the right thing. Buffy loses everything anyway. Buffy rebuilds. Rinse and repeat. *New add-in of dye to cover some gray.

With everyone turning against me, some even resorting to old school Sunnydale physical violence to express their anger, which is strictly SERC prohibited, I still didn’t see it. But I got it the instant I saw her face.

I don’t see her face now as she comes up behind me and grips me around my shoulders. But before she touches me I smell her like sweet bread and Red Vines. I feel her heat. It’s different than it used to be more electric than animal. My latest hulking demi-god lover gets smaller and smaller as she takes me out the fourth floor window.

“I’m sorry, Shadow,” I say, “For what it’s worth I know we could have been something if not for everything.”

And I’m heartbroken, not because of what-could-have-been. But because she doesn’t stop to make a comment about how Shadow is a fine hunk of man-god. She doesn’t say something about how she’ll take him for herself. She just jumps backwards out the window tightly holding me to her. Her new zapping warmth is filled with what I saw in her face grief.

I can feel her muscles tighten with breath. She twists us in the air reminding me of dreams that I pretended were nightmares. I feel eyes on us. I look up just in time to see Shadow in the window above along with Andrew Wells. I don’t know if Andrew yells something or if it’s the people below us. As the glow begins to flow around my vision, my brain, for the first time I don’t fight Faith. I fall with her.

My whole life I’ve been fighting her, or maybe it wasn’t Faith, but fate. Now I lean in because even if I’m the bad guy now, or if I was all along, it doesn’t matter. I’ll never stop trying to do good even if it means letting it all end.

This thought and Faith’s body, a bit softer and cushier than it used to be, comforts me. Then we land on the hard cold ground and my skin starts to burn.


	3. I Want to be Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I realize why am where I am, who I’m connected to, and why, now that you’re gone. And I know The Dark Goddess was right. I’m a whore that chose Hell.

I Want to be Wrong

Two Weeks Ago, Somewhere in London:

Ashes and blood cling to my skin. The highway was supposed to be safe while the trees burned. We didn’t start the fire. Neither did the girl really. Like Billy Joel, we knew it was impossible to get to the root of it. Still as the old Cali redwoods screamed their sacrifice wouldn’t be for nothing. We’d speed away in our getaway car. You and me were supposed to be Bonnie and Clyde only it wasn’t for the money, and that’s what made us right with karma. We were a super-secret-antihero couple and therefore invincible. That’s just metaphysics, right?

We’d decided it was about justice that couldn’t happen justly or morally. We decided no one could do it but us. So, even if we did start to feel the rush of blood in our bodies and fists our hearts were pure. It wasn’t for the greater good. It was to stop the bad. Choke it out. Now I feel choke-dry soot on my face.

My hands are gummy and shaking. I’m not in ass-end-of-nowhere-California anymore. I got out. I’ve broken many SERC laws. I used your magic without consent, but everyone already knows Chosen Ones are hypocrites.

_And liars?_ Your lips bend into a plump heart when you’re amused.

And liars. I told myself I was doing this to find you but we both know I’m doing this to be _with_ you, my Bonnie, or are you Clyde? Which one got convinced by the other their stupid idea was a good one?

It’s happening! I feel my skin bubbling and cracking. But when hold out my arms my skin and meat, what holds me, doesn’t fall off my bones like it should. God damned! Why?

Slayers bodies aren’t supposed to be different from any typical humans when it comes to moving through space at warp speed. My molecules aren’t supposed to be able to take this unless I’m piggybacking or being dragged off with a god. But, whatever holds me together refuses to come apart, at least on the outside. You know how bad it hurts when your insides and outsides don’t match.

_Not really. Thanks to you, teach. You saved me from all of that._

No, I didn’t, my love. I think I fucking kill…Finally, I feel scalding burn on my arm. It goes down all my layers, crackling to the bone. Pink fleshy bubbles toil up from grimy wrist. It fucking hurts! It makes me think straight for a second. I’m in London at some underground integrated-supe market lit by amber light. I don’t even know how I know it’s London. But, I now know 5,000 miles wasn’t enough to burn me up.

Maybe we got lucky. Maybe you are here! But, I can’t bring myself to call out your name. Either of your names, because I know what I saw, and heard. _The squelching and thudding_. I’m a Slayer that knows an ambush.

I bet you’d like this marketplace. You’d make some joke about a book I never read, and then tell me it was kind of like Harry Potter. Everything is set on brown booths and people are milling up to them. Some are sitting around talking and laughing. It’s a big space that sucks up all the noise, or maybe that’s my ringing ears.

I cover my ears and stomp through the place. It’s not really exotic or- what’s that word- whimsical. I think I see the yellow storefront of a Panera Bread. People, typical humans and supes… I shouldn’t say “supes.” That’s cop talk... typical humans and demon-folk are just walking around minding their own business with their cellphones out. This must be a safe space. Lots of demon-folk who can’t pass had to go back underground in 2009 thanks to me thinking I could actually be a cop in San Francisco. Oops.

_That’s so NOT what happened and you know it! There were so many factors that led to—_

Shut-up! Maybe I should just announce to them that it was all my fault? Would they go all flash mob and tear me apart? Probably not. The line for the Starbucks looks pretty long and who’d want to lose their place? Reports show most demon-folk never really cared for living among the Mundane openly.

It’s been a real trip finding all this stuff out. Even though I wasn’t all that surprised about a lot of things, like a Slayer is actually more dangerous and scarier than most demon-folk.

I don’t know I’m not passing for normal now. People stare at me so the ash and blood are probably noticeable. Maybe I look worse than I thought. Maybe all of my face has burned away. Maybe all the muscles and tendons exposed, but I can’t feel it. Don’t you hate how that smells when that happens to someone? I lean on a cheap wooden chair near a booth selling evil eye talismans. So I can catch my reflection in their mirror. No exposed or burned up flesh. I look like me. My eyes big and round. My hair looks blonder with all the ash in it.

A person with a Mohawk looks like they’re going to say something to me but thinks better of it. There’s a lot of punk going on. Who knows? Maybe I’m in some spell delusion or someone’s 80s memories of Merry ol’ England at an L flea market. No, there are cellphones and a Panera bread. I’m a dumbass. I look back at the booths wears. The wide stone-gem dark pupils poke me numbly. You frown at me in my zapping brain, your sleepy eyes very awake and liquid.

“ _Since you can’t stop making self-effacing remarks lately, how about saying something good about yourself after?”_

‘K…I saved the girl. I know I left her somewhere safe. I can still hear her screaming in my head. She was seven years old and she didn’t have much to say before all the screaming. The wild fires didn’t faze her, remember? Sure, it was hours ago, maybe. Maybe my head is just scrambled and I should stay here and you’ll find me. My landing here has to be some connection to you, right? Maybe I jumped ahead. Maybe they’re selling your body parts in some back booth. If they found out who and what you were I’d bet you’d go for a lot. Fuck, that’s dark.

What would a normal person think if she shifted from Lake County, CA to London after an ambush? I can keep my options open. I can think maybe you’re okay. Maybe you’ll tell me someone just messed with us but it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay, but you want to go off on your own for a bit and that’s why your here. You realize you don’t really want what I’ve been throwing down, and that’s okay. You finally want to go back to full-time suburban academia. You want to date a real social worker.

_You talk and talk about how people want things, how they want you, but not how they want you, but not_ you. _But never what you want. I’ll bet you all the Red Vines and bad frozen food_ you _can’t say what it is you want._

I want you to be okay.

_But you don’t know what you want for you?_

You know that’s not true! All I want—all I’ve ever wanted is the rush, okay? I’m not deep; you just want me to be deep because…

Oh fuck! Did I say that out loud? Brits hate high emotions. They’re going to come for me. Lock me away, and I guess that’s fair.

_Is that what you want? For them to tell you who you are?_

No, what I want to be wrong. What I want is for you to find me. Please, find me! Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I didn’t see what I think I saw, who I think I saw appearing like some savior, some Pontius Pilate no one asked for in a burning bush.

Maybe I am wrong. I mean, I usually am, if not always. Why would I have landed here in this place with your little teleporting Nightcrawler trick if you weren’t here?

_It’s okay for you to get what you want sometimes._

Okay. So, you’ll find me and take me away from here and give me a bath and rock me to sleep, because you know I am really a thirty-something-year-old baby sometimes. Even though I’m a hot chick with super powers most of the time.

Maybe in the middle of the bath I’ll stop being a baby and turn into a hot chick with superpowers so it can be a fun appropriately erotic bath for both of us, that’s what I want… and, they say I’m not a feminist.

_Who says that all those spoiled little Slayers you coddle? All the ones you fought for?_

I didn’t do anything. I just sat around talking.

_You read, you learned, you created._

No! That wasn’t me. You all did that! I just—

_You knew what needed to be done._

Yeah, and look what I fucking did!

“Love,” a voice finds me.

It’s not until a hand touches me that I find myself, shivering under a table like a child that just got blown out of a bomb shelter, or worse, a girl they got a hold of.

But, who’s helping those kids if I’m like this? Not the place we built. They rejected them, rejected me, said it wasn’t right to stop it. Because they knew a lost cause when they heard it.

“Love, what happened? Who did this?”

And I realize why am where I am, who I’m connected to, and why, now that you’re gone. And I know The Dark Goddess was right. I’m a whore that chose Hell.


	4. Old School Me/New School Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad the girl is already gone. So I don’t have to fake a smile to hide my pain. She left with a smile though, which I appreciate. It’s always nice when then don’t wake up and say “Oh shit.” Or “Oh God.”  
>  Or the worst one ever: “Harris, I don’t know what the fuck happened but I think it was a spell. I know neither of us were in control, so I won’t tell if you won’t. But, congrats on the improved skill and stamina.”

Old School Me/New School Shame

Two Weeks Ago, Encino, CA: Hotel Room of Xander Harris : *

What fresh Hell-on-a-Tuesday was this? BANG! BANG! BANG! The knock on the hotel room door aggressive. I hadn’t any ordered porn, let alone too much of it. Wait, did I? These medical device cons get lonely at night. That’s why I wasn’t alone.

Maybe the girl ordered porn? Younger women are into watching porn and a lot of other stuff my back can’t always keep up with. At other times I’m on fire. Not literally. You had to specify that. Sometimes people with “medical devices” in them caught fire, like those cell phones a few years back.

BANG! BANG!

“Hold on,” I grumble, knowing just getting out of bed was going to be an Olympic event with my back.

I’m glad the girl is already gone. So I don’t have to fake a smile to hide my pain. She left with a smile though, which I appreciate. It’s always nice when then don’t wake up and say “ _Oh shit_.” Or “ _Oh God_.” Or the worst one ever: “ _Harris, I don’t know what the fuck happened but I think it was a spell. I know neither of us were in control, so I won’t tell if you won’t. But, congrats on the improved skill and stamina_.”

Okay, maybe that last one wasn’t the worst ever, but the aftermath was. It’s been ten years and I still wonder what could have been if Faith kept her word and never told. It’s sad when a bad girl goes good sometimes.

I see my last sexual partner left her bra here. Faith hadn’t taken hers off. I took it off. And I should not being thinking of that. I should be thinking about how I’m not dead yet, even if slight tilt of my head makes my neck ache. Even if my back lashes out at me with the familiar pain, the kind that I’m sure sucks life out of m bone marrow and causes my gray stubble.

_As long as your dick works and you can stick it in something you know you can make it another day without running of to The Circus,_ that’s what my friend, Greg Collins, would tell me.

“Ow, ow, ow,” I say to myself as I get off the bed and my back locks when I bend down to pick up the bra.

I was going to have to see Collins for a charge soon for sure. My Enhancements didn’t work all the time. Like a lot of people with old Enhancements mine only kicked in when I had certain amount of natural adrenaline in my body. Since I’ve been fighting all my life that left me with the body of an ass-beat boxer during everyday life.

I force myself to bend up into a pain that makes me cry out before my back snaps into place..

“Coming,” I said with false cheer as I twirled the bra on my finger and walked almost normally to the door. To my surprise it’s not the girl I expected. It’s Samantha Finn.

“Sam?” I say, “What---“

“Sorry, Harris,” Sam says, “We didn’t mean to interrupt anything, but--“

“Shit,” I say because I see the “we, ” of the three-member cracker parade behind her.

There’s only one person behind Sam I don’t know. She’s not the one who makes my adrenaline kick in. Everything in me pinches but it’s not entirely bad. My back, my head, and places I didn’t even realize were feeling pain disappear. But, now I can be useful, or not, actually. I could kick some ass for about forty minutes, hold my own in a fight, or….something else. But, I know I’m not going to be doing any of those things with these people here.

“Xander,” the guy with the suit and the sandy hair pauses dramatically, “Hello.”

“Wells,” I want to pause dramatically and say: “ _Die._ ”

But who knows with The Circus it might be considered a death threat and I’ll have to spend a week in some rehab, so I just leave it at: “ _Wells_.”

“I can see you’re having a serge. I know this is a surprise,” Wells says “Please, stay calm.”

The unknown woman flinches a little, and grips her case to her side. Sam rolls her eyes. The other dark haired woman’s face is stern and looks past me. I suddenly very aware I’m holding a bra.

“I’m cool like Fonzie, Andy,” I say as I clasp the bra in my hands.

Andrew Wells is chronically full of shit. Most people can’t see my enhancements kick in. He makes it sound like some cool comic book thing where my eyes glow red and my muscles hulk out. All that happens is my pupils get a little bigger. If the Circus would let geeks like Wells, or whoever, keep designing things for us normies maybe we could’ve had that. But, no.

“Is—“ I begin, ignoring Wells as he starts to speak, and looking to the woman who looks past me. The one I know the most, the longest, her whole life.

“JC is fine,” The woman I know tells me. Her voice is higher than one would expect with her sultry look. I was going to say: “ _Is this a bad dream?”_

That’s what one would usually say when their ex-wife shows up at your hotel room with a friend, a guy you hate, and a woman that looks like a grown Disney princess in business attire, right? Unless it’s a porno. The fact that Dawn had to say our kid was fine means something else isn’t.

“Yes, everything _is_ okay,” Wells says, “But, I am going to have to ask you to back up about six feet to let us in.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say softly as look at Dawn and then at Sam.

“Just do it, Xander,” Dawn sighs.

I’m already complying walking backwards, letting them in. I’m a good boy. This will be a funny story for Collins who I definitely need to see. It will be nice to go out there. He lives in Alaska with his high school sweetheart and their teenagers. He got Enhanced when he fought in Afghanistan and became a charge-runner kind of by accident. Like me, he didn’t want to be a superhero anymore. He just wants to stop his pain and feed his family. I can do both of those things since my ex-wife makes more money than me.

“You know—“ I begin.

“And please do not make a Black Lives Matter joke,” Dawn says, “We’re _not_ cops and no one has _ever_ taken away your basic human rights.”

I ignore her bait for an argument and she sniffs as I toss the bra on the bed.

“I take it another Enhanced person is raging out again and you want me to help you. You know you could help yourselves if you just stopped regulating everything.”

I walk to the bed and start gathering up the amber glass beer bottles. I know all of this is going to get reported, so I might as well look as together as I can about it. Then I realize the person who I’m so scared of it being reported to is here. So I stop and just sit. SERC assholes like Wells want to think I’m the incredible Hulk when my enhancements work. Like I have some great vampire desire to squeeze his skinny pencil pushing neck. When really if I’m not up against some life or death situation there’s just less pain, that’s all.

“We didn’t come here to hear your libertarian crap,” Dawn says.

“But I have to listen to your crypto-liberal-fascism,” I say, “I know how it goes.”

Now Dawn decides to ignore me. She shows something that has come up on her phone to the woman and Wells.

“So, who’s the Winter Solider and how did The Circus find out?” I whisper to Sam as the three of them talk across the room.

When an Enhanced person goes rogue we, or I, call them a Winter Solider. Hey, everything might suck now, but at least there are Captain America movies.

“It’s not that simple,” Sam says, “We’re the targets this time.”

“What?”

“Someone, or something, is killing EPs,” Dawn says, “They’re doing it nationally or rather internationally. It took us awhile to see the connection.”

“What?” I say again.

“There might not be one,” Sam says stiffly, “Or it might not even be murder.“

“Yes,” Wells says, “It could be a malfunction of abusing the enhancements.”

“It’s not,” Dawn says, “EPs are being killed methodically and globally, but not just any EPs.”

“There’s no method,” Sam says looking at me, “It’s chaos.”

“No,” the dark haired woman who I’ve decided looks like Snow White in business clothes, speaks, “It’s not.”

Dawn’s phone rings, a boring professional business right. The girl I loved has long since evaporated into this professional creature.

“Hello,” Dawn answers, “Dawn Summers…Kennedy, hi…”

Kennedy. I didn’t hate her as much as some of the others, but she was part of the problem. Dawn walks towards the door phone to her ear and exits it. My fingers clench the bottle in my hand until there’s a hand over mine. It’s Sam Finn’s. She sits next to me on the bed.

“So,” I say to Sam, “You don’t think anyone is murdering us? You’re always an optimist.”

“No,” Sam’s eyes misted, “But I wanted to be the one to tell you: Collins is dead. I’m sorry, Harris. I really am.”

I didn’t say _“What?”_ I got what Sam was trying to tell me. She really thought that this was affecting people with Enhancements who charged them “too much”, and without SERC’s tech, which they didn’t give out for people’s “protection.” If I were going to Hulk-out it would be now. SERC would use this to say people needed their rules, but they’re wrong. They’re who’s killing EPs like Collins and me. Collins would never be reckless.

“So…” I say to Sam.

“Deep Scan was conducting our own investigation when—“

Sam’s eyes lowered as she spoke. I knew I’d get the real story from her later.

“When The Circus had to put their big draconian nose into it,” I completed.

I don’t feel anger. I just don’t feel anything.

“When they offered to help,” Sam’s words were covered by Andrew’s

“Draconian?” Andrew Wells says with all the haughtiness he’s gathered over the last fifteen years. Yet, I know the old Andrew is in there. He touches his nose with insecurity and doesn’t dare come near me.

“Xander,” he goes on, “We’re here to hel--“

“ _You’re_ here for you! Just like you always were,” I say. It’s good to know the old me exists too, but, I quiet my voice, “ You can tell your bending-reality Draco Malfoy boyfriend I said that!”

I don’t want to scare the woman and look like even more of an asshole. But, the old me knows how to hurt the old Andrew. Who’s been as helpful as the Android from Alien. I find the woman doesn’t look frightened. She glares at me. She’s Buffy-tiny. She wears a formal skirt and blouse. Her eyes are cold marbles.

“Xander,” Andrew says, “This is Rory Gilmore. She’s new to SERC.”

“Hello, Ro—“

“Rory, don’t mind Xander,” Wells interrupts me, “His brain hasn’t advanced much since high school back when accusing a guy of having a boyfriend was a thing.”

I fold in my lip and subtly kick a beer bottle under the bed. Old school me is new school shamed. I wish I could explain it to her. You had to know Andrew.

“You still think I’m in love with—I don’t even know who you mean. Spike? He is man-pretty.” New Andrew is amused.

“No, not Spike,” I say.

“Oh,” he says, “I just thought Draco Malfoy has the same hair. But, if your implying I’m--“

“Spike didn’t create SERC,” I get up from the bed and pace, “You didn’t hand _everything_ over to Spike because he caught you diddling with your evil robot! That’s something Spike would have understood.”

I stand at the hotel window. The sun is blazing as matchbox-looking cars loop around the freeway.

“That was a long time ago,” Wells’s calm demeanor cracked just a bit, “Mistakes were made but--“

“It was a year ago!” I snap.

“Try three,” he says.

He doesn’t move away even though I’m closer to him now. I turn to him

“Really?” I turn to him, “Wow, time gets away from you.”

The woman, Rory, is glaring at me and I can’t tell if I made another snafu or if I just let go of some top-secret information.

“New people do know robots are a thing, right?” I say to Andrew, “Or they used to be until SERC, until _you_ , sold out to _him_.”

“There are _people_ who have synthetic parts,” Rory says as she takes the desk chair and opens up her brief case, “They have souls. They’re as human as anyone. As an EP, an enhanced person, you’re considered one of them.”

My eyes go over to Sam as I see her visibly stiffen. I think being compared to a robot bothers her. What bothers me is that Rory Gilmore is clearly a “Circus”/SERC Kool-aide-drunk-employee with her “soul” talk. SERC decided awhile back that if you had a soul you had rights. That didn’t mean you couldn’t be “morally terminated” if you crossed a bunch of lines and the right paperwork was signed. I was all for that. What I wasn’t a huge fan of was how loosey-goosey a “soul” was defined. It was enough to make me feel like a robot, I tell you.

“Thanks,” I say to Rory, “I always wanted to get mistaken for Harrison Ford.”

“We’re not going to ask you to be a Blade Runner, Mr. Harris,” she says.

“Well, that job—“ I begin.

“Since someone has already taken that job by killing EPs. We’re here to help you.”

“I…” I pause, “I was not expecting you to get that reference.”

“I went to Harvard and date men,” she says, “Of course I know all about Blade Runner and its analysis. Personally, I think it’s overrated.”

I suppress a groan. This is so typical. SERC and all their fancy-schmancy college people who have never been in the fight a day in their lives. At least they aren’t as bad as the ones who had gone to all the schools, and had all the money, _and_ had superpowers. The door clicks and Dawn comes back into the room. She crosses the room and grabs a folder from Rory just as she was about to open it.

“I need to talk to Xander alone,” Dawn says.

“Dawn—“ Andrew is the first to object.

“Andrew,” she says, “I’m here to convince him, right? To do that we need to be alone.”

Sam goes to the door with a wordless nod. Andrew lingers and he and Dawn get locked in an intense seconds long staring contest before he says:

“All right, but don’t take too long.”

Andrew and Sam leave. It’s Rory Gilmore who remains planted. Her mature doll-face is resolute.

“We don’t allow any of our people alone in a room with anyone,” Rory says.

“Let me guess who made that rule,” I say to Dawn, “The same guy you were in a room alone with when—“

“Don’t you dare talk about Faith!” Dawn snaps.

I freeze. I feel my eye twitch.

“What?”

“And _I_ made the rule about no one being alone in a room with anyone,” Dawn continues, “and, it’s worked. So far nothing like what happened with you and Faith has ever happened in SERC.”

“What happe—“ Rory Gilmore began her face was paler than usual.

“What?” my panic spills out over her question, “I wasn’t--Why would you—? ”

I get up and pace. The last thing I was going to do is talk about Faith. It takes me a minute to remember Faith is actually part of SERC. That’s she’s in with all of these privileged spoiled brats. She’s kept a very low profile over the years. Literally. There’s the occasional post of her in some outfit or bikini, which everyone appreciates. Then there’s stuff about “healing” and going back to school. Or maybe those were other people’s posts. Everyone I know that was involved in the Slay life my age is always going on about their “new life chapter.”

As Dawn convinces Rory to leave I rub my eye to stop the twitch. The minute the door clicks shut I turn to my ex-wife.

“I wasn’t going to talk about Faith. Faith is—I was going to talk about the _real_ people behind SERC. The little rich boys and hypocrites like—“

“Like me?” Dawn says.

“No,” I grumble, “Of course not!”

“Faith is a _real_ person behind SERC and so am I,” Dawn says “God, Xander. You’re obsessed with men and privilege, which shows just how much of it you have.”

“I miss the days when you’d just call me sexist in less words,” I say.

“Fine,” she says, “You’re sexist.” 

“No,” I say, “I’m not. I think Rory Gilmore has equal potential to be a hypocrit—“

“We have to tell the truth, Xander!” she cries.

“Dawn,” I close my eyes, “I always told the truth. What happened with me and Faith was a spell gone wrong. I only wanted to hide it because I didn’t want to hurt you. Not because I wanted to--”

“God, Xander, that was ten years ago! I’m not talking about—“ she stops and glares up at me, “But hurting her was fine.”

“Who?” I say.

“Faith, you moron!” Dawn rises with one thick sheet of paper in her hand.

“Dawn. It was a total accidental spell. It—it was not consensual for me either. If anything I got more hurt than her. I lost everything and she became a lesbian. So who—“

“Oh my god!” Dawn paces and waves the paper around, a black and white photo, “She did not _turn_ into a lesbian. You don’t _turn_ into a lesbian! Faith was always bisexual, or pansexual, and you keep forgetting. It was _your_ fault it all started, and now it could end up killing you!”

“I was an accident,” I say, “Because I was trying to find something for us. Wait, what do you mean--?”

“You were trying to do something for _you_ , Xander,” she says, “God forbid, your wife who just gave birth doesn’t want to have sex with you every night. But,--”

“You know it wasn’t like that,” I say, “We had been through so much and I just wanted you to be happy!”

Pictures threaten to come into my brain, but I’m really good at blacking them.

“Well,” she says, “If you recall you ended making people way more powerful than me far more unhappy.”

“Dawn,” I say, “Faith really was okay. She was just worried you would find out and it would ruin our family.” _Which is why I will never understand why she told_ _you._

“Oh,” Dawn crashes on the bed and puts her head in her hands as she holds the photo between her fingers, “Poor Faith.”

“Yeah,” I say, “Poor Faith, who almost chocked me to death, and killed people, who now hangs out with rich people who decide what’s right and wrong, and now I’m the bad guy because of-- “

“Xander,” she whispers, “We can’t find Faith. I think she’s back.”

“What?” I say, “Faith? You think she evil again? Well, SERC should--”

“No not, Faith!” she fumes, “ I just said….Ah! You really don’t remember who wanted to kill you, kill _all_ of us, back then.”

My mind doesn’t feel numb anymore. Now it’s searching and aching.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, hun. I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. The government. Zompires, Slay-pires, ” I say, “Maybe I’m really losing it and my memory is—Oh, no, did my memory got erased? I hate that.”

“Your memory didn’t get erased,” she says, “We’re one of the few that does know what really happened in San Francisco.”

My mind goes quiet. Its relieved to know that I understand what she means to know how wrong she is.

“Dawn,” I say, “Listen to me. That’s all over with. We ended it. You—you’re just having PTSD, okay?”

A picture slides into my brain. It’s a memory of me and Willow in her old office on Divisadaro Street in that old grey Victorian. I walked in and I thought I caught her watching a porno. I should have stopped it then. I shouldn’t have joked, but I thought…

“How can we know?” Dawn asks.

“I can,” I say to Dawn who has tears in her eyes, “Besides, why would she care about the Enhanced?

“They’re not just any Enhanced,” she says, “They’re EPs that hurt people—“

“Dawn, EPs have just as much of a right, or a duty, to beat up scum as—“

“Innocent people, Xander,” she says, “That’s how we found the connection. Almost all of them have either a record, or an incident of losing control and hurting someone innocent.”

In a moment of quiet there’s a yelling in the hall. Only it’s not really yelling. It’s a family excitedly talking about going to the pool. Collins never hurt anyone innocent and I want to say I hadn’t either, but can I?

“Oh! ” Dawn says as she searches through the file folder. Her clumsiness reminds me of another time. Dawn holds out a photo. It’s a little girl with ragged thick wavy hair. I don’t take it.

“A child. She saved—a child was found states away from her home after a huge fire in—“

“She wouldn’t care about a child,” I say bitterly and get up. “No! This—this is about people pushing their Enhancements too far. Sam is right. No one is killing them. You know there’s a whole underground market for that kind of thing and—and—“

“Of course I know that, Xander,” she says, “and of course I know you’re a part of it, and that’s what we’re going to say for now. We’re going to say that due to the deaths you want protection. You want help. But, then, we’re all going to have to tell the truth.”

“What? Dawn,” I say, “If this is some kind of rouse to make me go to SERC and give--”

“You—you don’t think she’d care about a child?” Dawn says.

“No,” I say, “She wasn’t anything we knew. She was a complete monster.”

What I don’t say is a secret I will take to my grave. I’ll never tell Dawn that the monster hunted me while I held my infant, and I only got away by chance. That was when I vowed that I would do anything I could to not be powerless. I was 29. That was when _I_ grew up and realized that being the non-special guy wasn’t fucking special.

Dawn wipes her eyes. Her femme fetale look fades. She’s been curvy since she had JC. But for a minute she the skinny girl I knew. I hold her face. Her skin is still soft even if her face is less supple.

“Dawn,” I say, “Listen to me—“

“I—I know he killed her,” she says to me, “or maybe it was Buffy but that doesn’t mean—“

“No, Dawn!” I snapped, “I killed her and you-you made sure she could never come back. It was us. Us! We did it. That’s how I know she’s never coming back, okay?”

“I used to think that,” Dawn says, “and it was horrible but—I don’t know how much of it you remember in the temporal space but…“

She trails off. Of course, I remember the bat in my hands I remember hitting my best friend as hard as I could in the head and not caring.

_Xander, wait! It’s not her!_ I actually don’t know who screamed that. Sometimes I’m sure it was Buffy. Other times I know it was Faith. But they didn’t matter for once. The sky went green as my wife flew into it getting smaller and smaller in the sky with him. Because of course _he_ could fucking fly. He was holding her but she had the power. She was the key, but he wasn’t what locked anything down, that was me.

I hear someone shut a room door in the hall.

“No,” I say, “It wasn’t horrible. We saved the fucking world, Dawn. You and me.”

“We need to tell them,” she says.

“There’s no need because she’s not here. I know it. You know how I know it?”

“How?” her voice shakes.

“Because,” I say, “Besides our child it’s the only good thing I’ve really done since Sunnydale, and it was worth it. It still is, so I’m fucking certain it’s over.”

“But, look at the little girl’s arm,” she says.

She’s not giving up on this photo. She points to what I think is a dirt smudge at first. She sighs and wordlessly hands me some reading glasses from the briefcase. I put them on. At first I think it’s one of those rub on tattoos that kids get from loot bags. Some cartoon logo. Then I see it. The symbol: the broken sideway eight. Each part of the triangle is made of three lines. I look into the little girl’s eyes. They look both haunted and blank.

“Oh,” I say, “Oh great-googley fuck. She’s back.”


End file.
